Pool
by SqueakGirl
Summary: Kyle Broflovski should know better than to make any bets with Eric Cartman.


This was just something fun. I tried to be funny.

I do not own South Park. It belongs to Matt Stone and Trey Parker.

* * *

Pool

Kyle should have known better than to make any bets against Eric Cartman. It seemed as if the universe had it out for him whenever the two rivals butted heads. No matter what he and the fatass argued over, Cartman would somehow wind up on top. There was the time Cartman tricked him into riding their bikes out to Hollywood to pull Family Guy off the air. Then Kyle remembered Cartman's phony Tourettes incident. He and Thomas had actually saved Cartman from humiliation, rather than bring it down upon his fat head. Lastly, and Kyle shuddered at the thought, Cartman had managed to win the bet on whether or not Leprechauns existed. Unfortunately for Kyle, he still had nightmares about the last one.

So when one month ago, Eric Cartman wagered he could spend one Friday evening sitting through an entire synagogue service, Kyle laughed in his face. No way in hell would _the_ Eric Cartman ever voluntarily set foot in a synagogue, let alone pay attention to the rabbi. Kyle predicted Cartman would open his loud, fat mouth to offend the whole congregation within the first five minutes of the service. Cartman disagreed claiming he could last the whole night without a word said. Not sure why he made the bet, but always determined to prove the fat bastard wrong, Kyle shook Cartman's greasy hand and signed his name away yet again on their agreed contract.

And, of course, the universe decided to smile in Eric Cartman's favor once more. Kyle couldn't believe his eyes when Eric Cartman dressed in his best suit and a yarmulke placed upon his neatly parted hair, sat down next to him that Friday evening.

"What the hell are you doing here, fatass?" Kyle hissed under his breath, glancing over to his mother and father to make sure their attentions were occupied.

"Why, dear Kahl, I'm attending your Jewish day of prayer," Cartman answered. He smiled winningly at the fuming redhead. "Hello, Mr. and Mrs. Broflovski!" he added in a voice like honeyed scorpions.

"Well hello there, Eric," Sheila said, taken aback. "Did Kyle invite you, dear?"

Cartman threw a fat arm about Kyle's shoulders. "Of course, Mrs. Broflovski, I've always been ever so fascinated with the Jewish faith."

"No you haven't, fatass," Kyle hissed shoving the other off him. Cartman just grinned and turned to stare at the front. Kyle curled his hands into fist. "Get out. I don't want you pulling any of your shit in here. Get out!"

"I'm hurt, Kahl," Eric said placing a fat hand over his heart. "Do you think so little of me? I would never do anything to jeopardize your precious Jew meetings."

Kyle opened his mouth to retaliate but his mother shushed him. Biting his tongue, Kyle glared at Cartman who kept his gaze to the front, a smile playing across his lips.

The service started and nothing happened. Cartman stayed openly reserved and quiet in his seat. Kyle stared in a mixture of horror and confusion at Cartman's docile demeanor. Not once did Eric take his eyes off the rabbi or move from his seat or hiss anti-Semitic hate speech in Kyle's direction. It baffled the redhead. Was Eric Cartman really sitting through the entire service without saying a single word? Without so much as a protest or off-color joke? Was this even Eric Cartman? Kyle feared something was up, but no matter how often he glanced in Cartman's direction, the heavy-set young man continued to look the pure picture of innocence and curiosity.

As the service continued on, Kyle watched Cartman nodding his head at times and thoughtfully stroking his chin to what the rabbi preached. When the service finally ended, Cartman and the Broflovski family headed out to the parking lot. Part of Kyle felt thoroughly relieved that nothing had exploded or been set on fire in Eric's presence, but the other half of Kyle flinched inwardly at the realization that once again he had lost to Eric-fucking-Cartman.

As the adults and Ike began sliding into their car, Eric stopped Kyle short and took him aside.

"I won, Kahl," Cartman gloated, his lips set in a large sneer. "You didn't think I could do it. But I did. Neh neh neh neh neh."

Kyle sighed. He always tried to be a good sport. "Your right, Cartman, I lost. You win. I was actually impressed you lasted the whole evening."

Eric pulled out a creased slip of paper and unfolded it, bringing it to Kyle's eye level.

"Well, Jew, looks like you've got to help me make ten million dollars now," Cartman crowed.

Rolling his eyes, Kyle pointed out, "You know, fatass, that's easier said than done. What am I suppose to do? You do remember the extra clause we added to the agreement?"

Cartman huffed and brought the contract to his face, he read, "And neither party shall in any way, shape, or form force the loser of the bet to degrade themselves physically and/or mentally. This includes, but not limited to: sexual acts preformed on the winning party by the losing party, prostitution, stealing from the poor (i.e. Kenny), tricking old people out of their social security, misleading the masses in a new religion, blah, blah, blah. I know all that, Kahl. And I ain't doing any of it."

"Well, what do you want me to do?" Kyle asked hesitantly. He glanced over his shoulders at his parents. His mother had gotten out of the car to say hello to another member of the congregation, and Mr. Broflovski was singing along to the radio as Ike covered his ears. Kyle wished that whatever the fatass had him do it wouldn't reach back to his crazy mother.

"You'll see, Kahl. You'll be happy to know it'll be something you're good at, Jew-boy," Cartman scoffed.

"And that would be…?"

"Nerdy shit like geometry and math….oh, and taking money from innocent people like the greedy Jew you are." Cartman folded the piece of paper back into his pocket.

"Shut up, Cartman!" Kyle whispered through gritted teeth, checking to see that his mother was still occupied. "I thought we agreed on no stealing."

"Kahl, Kahl, Kahl. Why do you assume I want you to steal? Don't you have faith in your old friend?" Cartman simpered.

Kyle gave him a look dripping in disbelief. "Whatever, fatass. Just tell me what you want me to do."

"So let me get this straight," said Stan Marsh in between sips of his soda. "Cartman wants you to play pool for him? That all?"

"Of course that's not all, Stan," Kyle seethed. "He wants me to hustle people out of their money."

"How you going to do that?" asked Stan taking another sip of his drink. He looked more bored than concerned. It wouldn't be the first time Cartman was up to something. It probably wouldn't be the last time either.

Kyle ran his fingers absentmindedly through his curly hair. He and Stan were standing at the local bar which also served as a family dining restaurant until ten at night. The two boys leaned against a wall facing the only pool table in the joint. It was a sorry piece of work with its surface scratched with various initials and foul language. Three arcade games lined the wall to their right; two of them out of order. A crooked pinball machine rested in the corner to their left. At the moment Craig kicked the old game soundly, yelling at it to give him back his change. Tweek shuddered next to him holding a Styrofoam cup; Clyde looked on the verge of tears afraid perhaps that he wouldn't get a go at the pinball game before Craig broke it. Token stood back from the group slightly shaking his head at his friends.

"I don't know how to hustle people, dude," Kyle finally said. "And even if I did, I wouldn't."

"Didn't you guys make some contract not to steal from people?" Stan ventured sounding tired.

"Loophole," Kyle sighed. "Technically we only said not stealing from the poor or old people. Cartman said nothing about stealing from the stupid. He also said hustling wasn't stealing because people volunteered to lose their money. Or some kinds of bullshit like that."

Stan laughed. Kyle glared at him.

"Well, got to go," Stan said moving away from the pool table.

"Wait, you aren't going to stay to help me against Cartman?" Kyle said narrowing his eyes.

"Dude, I got stuff to do," Stan said, warily avoiding catching Kyle's eye as he zipped up his jacket.

"What sort of stuff?" Kyle pressed.

"Um…animal stuff…," Stan said rubbing his nose distractedly.

"What are you trying to save this time?" Kyle asked his voice flat.

"Narwhals."

"Seriously, dude."

"Shut up."

Stan stomped towards the door pulling his hat tight over his head. Kyle sighed. And here he was hoping Stan would back him up against Cartman's evil schemes. Oh well.

As Stan slid out the door, Cartman strolled in followed closely by Butters Stotch. The smaller boy looked cheerful as ever and nearly skipped in delight next to his heavier set friend. Slumping into a seat, Kyle waited, annoyed and tired. Cartman avoided Kyle at first and moved to the wall where the pool sticks hung. Most of them were bent or snapped in half, but Cartman managed to find three in decent shape. Eric handed one to Butters and walked back over to Kyle.

"There, Jew, now play," Cartman laughed shoving the pool cue into the redhead's hand.

"Play who?" Kyle asked, pretty sure he already knew the answer.

"W-why me, Kyle, I want to play billiards with ya. Eric said to go easy on you 'cause your new to the game," Butters chirped happily, patting Kyle on the shoulder.

Kyle glared at Cartman.

"That's right, Butters, poor Kahl doesn't know how to play pool at all," Cartman said, grinning at the blond boy enthusiastically. "But I'm sure a friendly game between the two of you will be fun!"

Kyle grabbed a hold of Cartman's coat sleeve and jerked him away from Butters.

"Dude, the hell? I know how to play pool. I thought that's what you wanted me to do!" Kyle whispered. Cartman continued to grin; he gave a small wave to Butters who looked a bit concerned with the heated expression on Kyle's face.

"Look, Jew-boy," Cartman said through his smile. "Butters sucks at this and you don't. If you lose to Butters everyone will think you suck worse than him right?"

Kyle huffed. "Yeah, I guess." He didn't like the idea of losing to Butters Stotch. It would be humiliating.

"And when everyone thinks _you_ suck, that's when you play them for reals and win me my money," Cartman explained.

"I don't understand why you want me to do this," Kyle said. "When you clearly could beat Butters at pool and hustle people just as easily as I could."

"Yeah like I'd lose to Butters on purpose," Cartman scoffed. "Plus pool's all about angles and shit, right? Aren't you good at that kind of math crap? That's why you'd be able to beat people a lot easier than I would, Kahl. See I even admit that you're dork enough to beat me at something like this."

Ignoring the backhanded compliment, Kyle couldn't help but see the brilliance in Cartman's plan. This bar was popular with lots of people in South Park. The adults frequented it at night and kids played the crappy arcade games in the day (if they were running). No matter the rumor, if it got started here it would be all over town by sundown. Cartman knew that. He'd have Kyle lose to Butters. Word would spread that Kyle Broflovski couldn't play pool to save his life. Cartman would bring in the gullible, set a high wager, and then have Kyle play at full skill. And Kyle knew the logistics of pool; it was mathematical, strategic. He enjoyed playing it with Stan and Kenny already; he'd lost count of the times he'd beaten his two friends at the game. Without even realizing it, Kyle found himself calculating the right force, speed and angle he'd choose in the first break.

Pushing the redhead forward, Cartman shifted him bodily to stand next to Butters.

"You go first, 'kay Butters?" Cartman asked. "Remember to go easy on him."

Butters smiled warmly. "Don't worry, Eric, I will."

Less than hour later, Butters stood hugging himself in joy and cheering happily as he pocketed his final pool ball. He had been stripes. Kyle solids. Not one solid had been hit into a hole, except for the one ball Butters knocked in with his elbow.

Kyle had lost five dollars to Butters and the blond boy proudly ran off telling everyone he came in contact with how he'd triumphantly beaten Kyle at billiards.

"Oh boy, won't my parents be happy for me!" Butters giggled to Craig's gang. "Now they won't ground me!"

"Dude, you suck," said Craig sauntering over to the pool table followed by his small gang.

"He's not that bad," chimed in Cartman. "I bet you twenty bucks you can't beat him."

Craig laughed. "You're blind or something, man. Plus, I don't want to play this stupid game."

"Then fuck off, Craig," said Cartman. Craig flipped him off. Kyle leaned against the table watching the two argue. The redhead wondered how long this would have to take. Ten million dollars was a lot of money, and if Cartman was only going to wager ten to twenty bucks at a time then this was going to take a hell of a lot longer than Kyle would have liked.

Standing behind Craig, Tweek eyed the pool table warily. The blond boy pulled at the buttons of his shirt, his left eye twitching. Cartman caught sight of him and grabbing his hand pulled him away from the rest of his friends.

"Tweek!" Cartman said enthusiastically.

"GAH!"

"Want to play pool with, Kahl?"

Tweek glanced from Kyle, looking bored and annoyed to Cartman whose grin was starting to turn into a grimace the longer he kept it in place. Glancing back over his shoulder, Tweek watched Craig and the others. Craig shrugged his shoulders and Clyde and Token simply looked curious as to what Tweek would decide.

Cartman dragged Tweek closer to Kyle and shoved a pool cue in the jittering boy's hand.

"There you are, Tweek," Cartman said. "Go easy on the Jew. Also let's make it thirty bucks?"

The pool cue rattled in Tweek's hand. "T-thirty bucks? For what?"

"If you beat Kahl, Tweek," Cartman informed. "I'll bet you thirty bucks you can't beat Kahl."

Tweek's eyes grew wide. "Oh Jesus Christ, that's too much pressure."

"You saw him play. You can do it, Tweek," Craig said off-handedly, checking his watch.

Looking a little more confident, Tweek gripped his pool cue tighter and moved towards the table. Kyle let him make the first break. The pool stick rapped loudly against the table as Tweek tried in vain to line the cue up with the white ball. Minutes ticked by as the crowd waited for Tweek to calm himself enough to make the first play. Kyle checked his watch too after five minutes passed and Tweek still hadn't controlled himself to strike the ball.

"God dammit, Tweek!" Cartman roared. "Hit the fucking ball!"

With the outburst poor Tweek shrieked and pushed the pool stick forward. It slipped past the white ball tapping it lightly. The white ball rocked forward an inch then stopped. Tweek threw down his cue stick and tore at his hair.

"Gah! That was too much pressure! I d-don't want to play anymore!"

Cartman rushed forward, his pudgy hand outstretched. "Then pay up. You forfeited so you owe me thirty bucks, Tweek!"

"He does not, fatass," Kyle protested. "He didn't even play."

"Shut up, Kahl!" Cartman hissed. Craig and the others moved forward.

"Hey, man, Tweek doesn't owe you anything," Token said.

"He agreed to play. He played and he forfeited. Not my fault he can't keep his nerves in check," Cartman argued.

"You're a bastard, Cartman," Craig said his voice monotone.

"And Tweek owes my thirty bucks."

"GAH!"

Craig yanked the extra pool stick Cartman had been holding from his hand. "Listen, you fatass, I'll play pool with Kyle. And we'll make it sixty bucks."

Kyle stood, bemused waiting for Cartman's reaction. Kyle found it interesting how the others seemed to have ignored the glaringly obvious flaws in Cartman's assertions that Tweek pay up. One, Kyle, the one playing, had even said Tweek's move didn't count and two, as the one playing why did Cartman handle the money. Why hadn't anybody asked why Kyle was playing for Cartman? Why did Cartman win the money if Kyle was the one playing? No one seemed to care. Shaking his head, Kyle assumed it had to do with Cartman's personality and demeanor. He was a young man who always acted like he was in charge. And he was manipulative. _Although_, Kyle thought, _if anyone assumed I was being manipulated to play for him, wouldn't they extend that thought to include themselves in that manipulation? After all, the entire town should know by now how much Cartman was a scheming, two-timing, sociopathic, racist, fat…. Hmm, where was I going with this?_

From the other end of the table, Craig had made his first shot, breaking the pool balls out of their tight triangle. No balls went in. The dark haired boy glared at Kyle waiting for him to make his first move.

Kyle sighed. _ I guess everyone's just stupid._

Playing against Craig proved harder than Kyle thought. He wasn't naïve like Butters and he wasn't as stupid as Kyle first labeled him. The other boy quickly shot in three stripes to Kyle's one solid. However, after the initial shock of having a worthy opponent, Kyle pocketed his next ball and continued until all his solids were gone from the table. He glanced at the eight ball and then up to Craig who only glared. Kyle could see the black-haired boy's hand twitch as if trying to stop his hand from automatically flipping him off.

"Come on, Kahl," Cartman urged. Sighing yet again, Kyle took aim and made his move. The white ball bounced from the left side of the table, angling back to tap the eight ball gently into the middle pocket on the right side.

Cartman whooped with joy while Craig swore loudly.

"What the hell, man," Craig said stalking forward and jabbing his finger into Kyle's chest. "How the fuck did you suddenly get so good?"

Cartman was at Kyle's side, shoving Craig back. "Now, now, Craig, you lost so pay up the sixty bucks. Kyle just played the game fair and square."

"Like hell," Clyde said moving to stand on Craig's right. "You cheated somehow, Cartman."

"Nuh uh," Cartman said his fat hand now extending towards Craig. "Sixty dollars?"

Clyde turned to Kyle. "How did he cheat? Butters totally beat you not more than thirty minutes ago."

Cartman narrowed his eyes at Kyle, daring him to screw up their contract. Kyle fumed inwardly, wondering if punching the tub of lard in the face would be a dead giveaway that something was up. Kyle really didn't want to take his friends' money.

Gritting his teeth Kyle answered in a deadpan voice. "Beginner's luck."

"Bull shit," Token said from behind Clyde's back.

"Well, whatever it is you owe me money, Craig!" Cartman bellowed. Half the other patrons at the bar looked up from their drinks. A family in the corner eyed the boys warily.

Clyde stepped forward. "I want to play. I'll prove Cartman cheated somehow."

"Fine, Clyde, you do that. And if _you _lose you'll owe me one hundred thirty dollars. Double of what Craig and Tweek owe."

"Fatass, double of sixty isn't one thirty! It's one twenty," Kyle hissed, covering his forehead with his hand at the horrid miscalculation.

"Whatever, Kahl. I say it's one hundred and thirty," Cartman snapped at the redhead. He turned back to Clyde. "Well, you in, pussy?"

"Yeah!" Clyde grabbed the pool stick from Craig and approached the table.

What followed was another brief game in which Kyle won – again. When he pocketed the final ball, Clyde burst into tears, whimpering something about not having that kind of cash to blow away on pool. Cartman, however, laughed with glee as he began making a tally of all that the others owed him. As if not to be left out, Token stepped forward volunteering to wager the amount everyone owed and double that. The other boys looked a bit put out having Token try to bail them out of their sorry predicament, but seemed resigned to let him try his luck too. After all, Token was the richest kid in South Park. Losing roughly three hundred sixty dollars wouldn't faze the young man much. Cartman tried to push the bet higher, but Token refused keeping the total at only double what the others owed. Kyle wondered why Cartman had so much faith in him to win. Kyle had never played against Token before, for all Kyle knew he could actually be a hell of a lot better than him at the game.

That, however, was false. Kyle won. To Token's credit he put up much more of a challenge than Clyde and proved just as cunning if not more so than Kyle. Several instances during the game teetered towards Token's favor. Once Kyle missed a shot and Token's turn came. Hitting four balls in one go; Token walked about the pool table a slow smile forming on his face. The other boys whooped and mumbled encouragement. Token leaned low over the table aiming for an awkward angle. He knocked the cue ball hard hoping to reach the other end of the table. The ball stopped short of one of his solids which teetered on the edge of pocket. He swore and stood back allowing Kyle to take his turn. During that brief moment, Kyle had watched in satisfaction at Cartman squirm. Three hundred sixty dollars was a lot of money for a high school kid to lose, and Cartman didn't have the cash to spare.

But Kyle had won, and Cartman sighed in relief.

Defeated Craig's gang shuffled out the door. Token pulled out his checkbook avoiding everyone's eyes as he wrote Cartman a check for three hundred sixty dollars. He tore the check out mercilessly and thrust it at the overweight young man. Then turning on his heel, Token stomped out with the rest of his friends. Kyle overheard Clyde offering Token a pizza as thanks for saving all of them from being indebted to Cartman. Token smiled sadly at the offer.

Kyle turned to Cartman who was pressing the check to his lips in a sickening kiss. "You're a bastard."

"A bastard that has three hundred and sixty dollars," Cartman crowed, waving the bills under the other boy's nose. "You're just mad that you don't get to hoard it away like the Jew you are."

"God dammit, Cartman, how long are you going to make me take money from our classmates?" Kyle threw down the pool stick at the other's feet. "Are you going to wait till we've gone through the whole grade?"

"You don't want to play against any more classmates?" Cartman asked stuffing the money into his jacket pocket.

"No, I don't," Kyle said crossing his arms.

"Alrgithy then,' Cartman said with a shrug. Kyle blinked, taken aback.

"Really?"

"Sure we won't play against anyone else from school."

"Good."

Cartman strolled past where Kyle was sitting towards the bar. He stopped just short of some pathetic looking velvet ropes that were supposed to magically keep all the underage from purchasing alcohol. Scanning the bar area and part of the dining room, Cartman searched for another "opponent." The door swung open on rusty hinges letting in a fresh breeze of icy air. A brief glance towards the exit and Cartman sized up the newcomers. He wrinkled his nose at the disheveled young man who slunk off into a corner of the bar and tried to get the barkeep to sell him wine.

"Hello there, Eric," said a familiar voice. Turning around Cartman found himself face to face with Randy Marsh.

"Why hello, Mr. Marsh," Cartman said.

"You aren't trying to buy beer are you?" Mr. Marsh asked eyeing Cartman and taking a swig out of his own bottle.

"Of course not, Mr. Marsh," Cartman said innocently. "Why me and Kahl were just playing a game of pool, and I came over here to buy him and myself a soda."

"Playin' pool, huh?" Mr. Marsh mused taking a sip of his beer. "You know I use to be pretty good when I was younger. Taught Stanley everything he knows."

Cartman could tell that the beer Mr. Marsh held wasn't his first today.

"Really?" Cartman feigned interest. "I'd love for you to show me and Kahl a few pointers."

Randy blinked heavily taking a moment to register what Cartman had said. "Sure, Eric."

Leading the tipsy man over towards the arcade games, Cartman gave Kyle the thumbs up. Rather than return the gesture, Kyle bolted out of his seat, and pulled Cartman away from the adult.

"What the fuck, Cartman?" Kyle hissed. "I'm not swindling money out of Stan's dad. That's low."

"Too bad, Jew," Cartman laughed shoving the redhead in front of the billiards table.

"Hello, Kyle," Randy said amiably, leaning heavily on the pool stick he'd picked up off the floor. "Seen Stan today? Sharon's been bugging me to find out what that boy's up to."

"He's saving the narwhals, Mr. Marsh," Kyle said in a deadpanned voice. Randy nodded sagely.

"'Course. Knew it had to be something gay like that." Randy took another sip of beer. "He'll be home by curfew?"

Kyle didn't know. "Sure, Mr. Marsh. I can call him later if you want."

Randy waved his bottle in front of him saying no worries.

Cartman moved between the two. "So Mr. Marsh, why don't you play Kyle so we can see how good you are?"

Mr. Marsh agreed. He made to set his bottle down only to have it fall to the floor. Kyle lunged forward to grab it, but missed. Luckily the floor was carpeted under the pool table and the bottle was almost empty.

"Oops," Mr. Marsh chuckled. Kyle spun around to face Cartman.

"I'm not playing him if he's drunk. I'll only face people who have their wits about them," Kyle whispered.

"Oh whatever, Kahl." Cartman poked a fat finger into Kyle's chest. "Tweek was spazzin' all over the place and you played him. And Clyde's a complete 'tard, but that didn't stop you. You didn't complain once. Okay you did, but that's 'cause you're a little bitch."

Another sweep of cold air told them someone else had entered the bar. Stan stepped in, looking forlorn with his jacket slightly damp and his hat torn on one end. His eyes scanned the room, finding his friends he made straight for them. He slowed his step as he registered his father leaning precariously onto the pool table.

"Uh, hi Dad," Stan said peering closely at his father. He sniffed the older man's breath and drew back grimacing. "Aw, Dad, it's like four in the afternoon. Are you already drunk? Mom's going to kill you."

"Your father is not drunk, Stanley," said Mr. Marsh resting his elbows on the pool table, failing to lean straight and nearly toppling to the floor. Kyle lurched forward again to help steady the man. "I was just in here looking for you. Your mother wanted to know if you'd be home for dinner. So I came in here, couldn't find you, and then had a drink or two just now."

"And now he's going to play a rousing game of pool with our dear friend Kahl," Cartman added rubbing his pudgy hands together.

"Cartman, I'm not playing against Mr. Marsh," Kyle said folding his arms.

Mr. Marsh frowned looking disappointed. "You don't want to play with me?"

Kyle rolled his eyes. Stan grabbed his father under the arm and steered him towards a seat near the pool table.

"Let me play, Dad. Mom would hate it if she found out you'd lost all your money cause you were drunk," Stan explained.

"Who says I was going to lose money?" Randy looked around at Cartman and Kyle. Kyle turned his face away from the man.

"Well, it was only going to be a little bet of like twenty bucks," Cartman lied. "You know just some gambling amongst friends."

"I see," said Randy, though he looked so out of focus the boys wondered if he could see anything at all.

"Look, I'll just play. I got twenty bucks on me and if I win, I'll pay your tab, Dad," Stan said pulling out a twenty dollar bill and laying it on the table.

"Dude, you don't have to do this," Kyle offered.

"Nah, it's cool. Knowing my dad he probably hasn't paid his tab off for this evening…or afternoon," Stan added noticing the sun light streaming in through the only grimy window in the place. "And it would be a lot better off for Dad and I if we didn't return home and Mom get on him about wasting his money."

"And you're not wasting your money?" Kyle asked raising an eyebrow.

"She'll be less angry at me for losing money. I'm sixteen. It's like a teenager's job to be wasteful," Stan explained.

"True," Kyle agreed. He handed his friend the extra pool stick, stepping back from the table.

"So is it okay that I play, Dad? Dad?" Stan turned around to find his father passed out in the chair leaning over the small wooden table next to it. "I'll take that as a yes."

Stan moved back towards the pool table. Kyle laughed. Cartman slapped down another twenty on top of Stan's.

"This is legit, Stan," Cartman warned pointing a fat finger at his friend. "We win, we get your twenty."

"Yeah, yeah, let's just play." Stan took aim at the white ball, leaning over his pool cue. He took aim and struck. The ball shot down the table, bumping over scratches and shattered the triangle of balls. Shooting about the green surface, the stripes and solids bounced off the walls and ricocheted past one another. Slowly they settled. Not one made it into a hole.

"Damn." Stan stood next to Cartman, letting Kyle move forward to make his move.

"Heh, heh, that twenty's mine," Cartman crowed.

"Fatass, why don't you play me? Why do you always have to mess with Kyle?"

Cartman made a face. "Why do you smell like fish?"

Cartman eyed Stan's damp hat and his hair which had only dried at the tips. Upon closer inspection Cartman could see that Stan's jacket was damp as well and that if he listened over the noise of the bar he could hear his friend's sneakers squeak.

"Did you go swimming in your clothes?" Cartman asked snickering.

"Um...not exactly. Zippy knocked me into the tank with his horn…."

"Who the hell is Zippy?"

"He's a narwhal. I tried to save him, but the Japanese got to him first…."

Stan sniffed hard and rubbed a hand over his eyes. Blinking several times he continued to stare straight ahead. Cartman frowned.

"Dude, you are such a fucking fag," Cartman said shaking his head.

"Shut up, Cartman," Stan said through gritted teeth. He swung his pool stick at Cartman who managed to duck out of the way.

Meanwhile Kyle had managed to sink half the solids. Turning about to make yet another move, he paused, catching sight of the twenties laying on the edge of the table. He really didn't want to take Stan's money. He didn't want to take anyone's money. Maybe he could throw this one game. Would Cartman notice?

_Probably_, Kyle sighed. Especially if it was against Stan. It would look too suspicious. Kyle leaned over the table and took another shot, sinking yet another ball. _Oh well_, Kyle thought, _I'll just owe Stan twenty bucks._

Kyle straightened up and moved to the opposite end of the table. _Three more to go_. Just as he took aim a loud bang issued throughout the restaurant. Jumping slightly Kyle knocked the ball only half-heartedly and it rolled carelessly off to the right not hitting anything as it went. It stopped right before the middle hole. Stan neared the table again ready for his turn. Cartman sulked behind him, a large welt fast growing on the side of his forehead from where Stan's pool cue had found its mark.

"Dude, what was that?" Kyle asked squinting over towards the bar.

Stan, who was taller than Kyle, stood on his tiptoes to get a better look over the heads of the crowd. "Don't know. Looks like some kid threw something at the waiter. He looks familiar."

"Who the waiter?" Kyle asked, chalking his pool cue.

"No, the kid. He looks like someone I've met before…. Whatever. My turn right?"

"Yep."

Once again Stan took his turn. Luck seeming to be on the young man's side, Stan managed to sink two in one shot. He paused for a moment staring at the table, wondering if he'd witnessed the somewhat miraculous occurrence. Kyle thumped him on the back and congratulated him. Cartman growled in the corner. Taking another turn Stan turned, his back facing the bar, and laid his pool cue against the edge of the table. As he drew back his arm to hit the ball someone stumbled into Stan causing him to drag his pool cue across the table, scattering the balls about and sinking Kyle's solid number seven that had teetered on the edge of the hole. Straightening up Stan found himself staring into a pair of angry brown eyes surrounded by a cloud of cigarette smoke.

"Beetch, watch where you point dat ztick," mumbled the disgruntled looking young man. He wore camouflage cargo pants and a black t-shirt. A shovel was strapped to his back.

"Hey, you bumped into me, kid," Stan retaliated, standing to his full height and glaring down at the newcomer.

"Mole?" Kyle asked.

"Aw fuck, it's that stupid British piece o' crap," Cartman hurled from his corner. Somehow he had produced a milkshake and was slurping it in disgust (because of the appearance of the Mole, of course, not because of the taste of the milkshake).

Mole ignored the fat boy, his attention on Stan and Kyle. He took a long drag of his cigarette and blew smoke into Stan's face who coughed into his sleeve.

"Zis pub iz ay joke. Zey will not allow me to purchase one glass o' wine! One glass! Zey give me some bullshit about underage drinking. In France I would not 'ave this problem," Mole grumbled putting his cigarette out on the pool table and lighting another one.

"Well, then go back to where you came from, Limey," Cartman called.

"The drinking age is twenty-one here, Mole," Kyle informed him. He looked back at the pool table and saw he only had two more cue balls to sink before the eight ball. "Stan, do you want to redo that shot?"

"Huh, uh sure," Stan plunged his hand into the pocket to retrieve the seven solid ball.

Cartman barreled over to the table and knocked Stan's hand away. "No way, hippie, you ain't gettin' a second chance. Kyle missed just awhile ago and you kept going."

"Fatass, I don't care," Kyle said yawning. Cartman rounded on him. For a moment Kyle thought the other boy was going to hit him. Instinctively the redhead braced himself, raising his pool stick slightly.

"Shut up, Jew. It's my money. You just do as I say!" Cartman said. Kyle jabbed the pool cue at Cartman's knee. The overweight boy managed to dodge, slapping Kyle on the ear knocking the boy's green ushanka off his head.

"God dammit, Cartman! I don't want to do this anymore!" Kyle nearly shrieked. He picked up his hat and jammed it over his bushy red curls. Stan sighed.

"You are betting on ze game?" Mole asked. The three boys rounded on him unaware that he hadn't left their side.

"Cartman's making me – OW!"

Kyle stumbled back into the pool table rubbing his elbow. Cartman grinned throwing aside his own pool cue.

"Dude, stop hitting Kyle!" Stan said moving between the fat boy and his best friend.

"I would like to play winner," Mole stated simply. The other boys went silent with shock.

Cartman was the first to recover. He rubbed his hands together. "Of course! Once Kyle beats Stan you can play, Frenchie."

Mole raised an eyebrow at the final acknowledgement of his right heritage. He glanced from Stan to Kyle and then back to Cartman.

"You are 'ustling, non?" Mole laughed around his cigarette.

"What!" Cartman placed a hand over his heart. "I don't know what you're talking about. Stan and Kyle were just making a friendly bet."

"So why do you get ze money, _le gros cochon_?" Mole said waving his hand between Kyle and Cartman.

Kyle grinned hugely; turning to Cartman he asked innocently, "Yes, Cartman, why do you get to keep the money? Explain to Christophe."

Balling his fist Cartman's gaze darted from his friends to the Mole. He knew he'd been caught.

"'ow much 'ave you made so far?" Mole asked.

"Four hundred!" Cartman gloated.

"It's three hundred sixty, fatass," Kyle corrected.

"It'll be close to four hundred after you beat your boyfriend," Cartman said dismissively. Stan thwacked him in the head with his pool cue again.

"Shut up, fatass."

"I 'ave un proposal. I would like to take over your game," Mole said indicating Stan. "But we bet it all. And if you win I will double your three hundred and sixty dollars."

A long silenced followed. Cartman's face screwed up as his mind raced over the offer. Kyle had only two more balls to sink before the eight ball. The Mole had to contend with almost all of Stan's stripes. The black haired boy had only managed to shoot in two and that had been on a fluke. Mole would be at a grave disadvantage, and it was Kyle's turn up. Why the Mole so confidently offered to take Stan's spot worried Cartman. Would the kid prove a lot better at pool than Kyle? But seven hundred and twenty dollars was hard to say no to, so Cartman decided to accept the Mole's offer. He'd just make sure to watch that French piece of crap closely and call him out if he tried any bull shit.

"Alright, Frenchie, deal." The two shook hands. Mole flicked his second cigarette to the ground and held out his hand to Stan. The other handed over the pole and moved to pick up his twenty only to have it snatched out from under his hand.

"Forfeited, Marsh. This twenty's mine," Cartman crowed.

Kyle shoved Cartman, knocking the other off balance. He snatched the twenty out of the fatass's greasy palm and handed it back over to Stan.

"Thanks, dude."

"No sweat."

"You owe me that twenty, Jew."

"Fine whatever." Kyle pulled his wallet out and threw two tens at the other boy.

Mole cleared his throat. "It was your move," Christophe said waving his hand over the table. Kyle hurried over. Cartman and Stan moved back to watch.

"You hate ze fat pig, non?" Mole asked as he chalked his cue stick.

Kyle gave a half-hearted laugh. He said under his breath for only Mole to hear, "That's a gross understatement. I loathe the bastard."

"Why are you winning money for 'im?" Mole continued. Kyle made his shot. One more ball to go.

"Lost a bet. Simple as that," Kyle sighed. Mole nodded his head, sympathetic.

"You let yourself lose to zat pig?" Mole said jerking his thumb over to Cartman. The overweight young man had produced a box of _Cheesy Poofs_ now and proceeded to spray crumbs over Stan as the fatass talked about what he'd spend his first seven hundred dollars on when Kyle had won. Stan brushed the crumbs away with as much dignity as he could muster. Cartman howled with laughter.

"Please, don't rub it in," Kyle said sounding exhausted. He took his next shot and managed to sink in his last ball. The black ball was left.

Mole continued. "So, 'ow did 'e win?"

"I bet that he couldn't sit through one synagogue meeting with me and listen to the rabbi's talk," Kyle said through gritted teeth, remembering the smug look on Cartman's face as he, in silence, sat for the entire evening without a fuss.

Mole pulled another bent cigarette from his pocket and moved to stand on the other side of the pool table, opposite of Kyle. He lit it and waited for Kyle to take aim of the eight ball. Cartman and Stan grew silent. Kyle wondered if either of them was breathing. Mole seemed undisturbed by his eminent loss. Instead of showing in sign of fear, he just continued to stand before Kyle, playfully swinging his pool stick back and forth between his hands. It moved so fast that the stick blurred in a fan-like shape.

Kyle hit the white ball. An intake of breath from their audience as the ball spun towards the black eight ball. Unfortunately it appeared as if Kyle had miscalculated his aim. The white ball, seeming so close to striking the eight ball, zipped past the other barely tapping it. Kyle stood up looking confused. He thought he'd aimed straight enough. Oh well. He shrugged his shoulders and stepped back to let Mole take his turn.

"God was mocking you," Mole whispered to Kyle continuing their conversation from before. "You thought 'e would be on your side even in 'is 'ouse, but NON! The bastard spits on you even when 'e invites you in."

Kyle took a step back from Mole. He had forgotten how –awkward – the Mole could be. Not too fond of the sacrilegious outbursts, Kyle kept his distance, nodding sympathetically to Mole's ravings.

"'ow did 'e do eet?"

"What?" Kyle said.

"'ow did ze fat pig stay still long enough? If I am not mistaken, 'e 'ates you because you are Jewish, non?" Mole asked knocking in one of his stripes.

"That's a big part of it," Kyle sighed. "He's also simply a sick fuck."

"So 'e just sat dere. Did not'zing?"

"Well, yeah."

Mole sunk his next ball, but missed the fourth one. Kyle's turn again. Mole stood once more on the opposite side of the table to Kyle; the French boy swinging his pool cue back and forth just as before. And Kyle missed again. He shook his head wondering what was wrong with him. He felt tired, true, but sinking the eight ball shouldn't be that difficult.

Mole took his turn. This time he managed to sink all his stripes. Cartman hovered behind Kyle fuming.

"He better not win, Jew."

Kyle ignored him. Stan bit his lip. Mole aimed, but missed.

"_Le gros cochon_, I am wondering…. 'ow was ze service you attended?" Mole puffed on his cigarette. Kyle paused, listening in as he took his turn. Mole flipped his cue stick between his hands once more, standing in front of Kyle on the other side of the table.

"Eh? What?" Cartman didn't understand the question.

"Ze synogague. 'ow was ze service? What stories did zhey tell about that beetch God?"

Cartman glanced from Mole to Kyle. The redhead narrowed his eyes, slowly the cogs in Kyle's mind ground into action. Stan looked on in curious silence.

"Yeah, fatass, what did the rabbi talk about?"

"Er…"

"The bet was to sit through without a single word spoken, but _also_ that you'd pay attention to the rabbi. So, Cartman, what did he talk about?" Kyle backed Cartman into a corner. Mole smiled behind Kyle's back, smoke leaking from his lips. Stan grinned too, catching on.

"It was like about Jewish stuff, Kahl. Like Moses and killin' Jesus – OW, DON'T HIT ME YOU FUCKIN' JEW!"

Kyle swung the pool stick back; taking aim at Cartman's other kneecap.

"You didn't pay attention, did you?" Kyle yelled so loud that Mr. Marsh stirred in the corner and other patrons lowered their conversations volume, concerned.

Cartman squirmed out of the corner and ran around to the other side of the pool table.

"God dammit, stop it Kahl. You have a game to win me!"

"I don't have to do fuck for you, fatass. You didn't pay attention to the service. That was part of the deal!"

"Look I just don't remember what happened. I've slept since then, Kahl."

Cartman ducked as Kyle threw the plastic triangle that straightened the cue balls at his head. Kyle lunged at the table and scooped up the white cue ball and pulled back his hand ready to throw.

"Tell me one thing. One thing the rabbi said, Cartman, and I won't knock your teeth out of your skull with this ball," Kyle threatened taking a step near the fat boy.

"I don't remember, Kahl," Cartman wailed. Kyle's patience snapped. He let the ball fly and Cartman ducked.

Unfortunately, Kenny was standing behind Cartman's large backside.

"Hey, guys – AGHHH!" Kenny dropped to the floor like a sack of bricks. He clutched at his eye with his mittened hand. "What the fuck, dude!"

"Oh God, Kenny," Kyle scrambled over to his friend. "I'm so sorry. That was meant for fatass."

"Figures its Cartman's fault," Kenny mumbled as Stan and Kyle helped him to his feet. Some of the other customers eyed the group of teenagers wearily. The bartender had paused in wiping off glasses to peer at the boys suspiciously.

Kyle and Stan had Kenny sit in a chair. Stan rushed to the bar to ask for ice. Cartman had not managed to escape. Mole had removed his shovel from its place perched on the French boy's back. He stood before Cartman, lightly tapping the shovel to the ground in a menacing fashion. He blocked the only way to the exit. Mole smiled around his cigarette.

"I 'ate guard dogs, _le gros cochon_. Remember 'ow you let ze guard dogs get me?"

Cartman eyed the other teen skeptically. He knew what the other was talking about, but refused to acknowledge it. "You're a freak, dude. Let me go. I got a check for three hundred and sixty dollars to cash."

"Non."

Back on the other side of the pool table, Stan pressed a dirty rag filled with ice over Kenny's swollen eye. Kyle continued to stammer his apologies. Kenny waved him off saying 'shit like this happens all the time, dude.'

"By the way, Cartman, I've got you tape cassette. You dropped off my player but forgot your tape." The blond boy held out the old tape towards the overweight young man. Eyeing Mole warily, Cartman scooted towards his friend and reached for the tape. Kyle, however, snatched it out of Kenny's hand first.

"What was that about borrowing your tape player?" Kyle asked. He swung around to glare Cartman down. Despite the look, Cartman stuck out his hand demanding for the tape.

"He borrowed it from me a couple of Fridays ago. Don't know why. He's got his own CD player," Kenny explained.

"But you don't have a tape player, do you?" Stan asked helpfully. Cartman only crossed his arms.

"'Course I don't own a stupid cassette player. I'm not a poor piece of shit like Kenny."

"Gee thanks, see if I let you borrow anything of mine again, fatass."

"Oh such tragedy, Kenny. How will I ever go on if I can't ask to borrow your Coleco Vision! Or you're 8-track player!"

Kyle looked down at the tape he was holding. It was black with white duct tape over one side. The lable read: _Mein Kampf_.

"You fucking listened to this tape while you were in synagogue with me, didn't you? Next to my family? You're a sick fuck, Cartman!" Kyle hurled the tape at Cartman's head. It bounced off the teen's fat skull and the skittered away under the nearest table. Not stopping Kyle stormed over to Cartman, grabbed the fat boy's red jacket and dug in the chest pocket pulling out Token's check. He shoved Cartman to the ground and turning on his heel stomped back over to Stan and Kenny.

While Cartman began to sniffle and whimper from his position on the floor, Kyle held the check up to Stan.

"Let's get this money back to Token and those other guys –"

Before he could finish Mole had snatched the check from the redhead's hand.

"I believe dis iz mine."

"Uh, thanks, Mole, for the help with Cartman, but we need to get that money back to Craig and –"

Mole was shaking his head. He jerked his thumb over his shoulder at the pool table.

Kyle stared. The white ball was back on the table. The black eight ball had vanished.

"My turn after you hurled ze cue ball at your friend dere." He pointed to Kenny who's eye had swollen shut. "I managed to sink ze eight ball. I win ze money, Kyle. Thank you for ze game."

With a smile still planted firmly on his face, Christophe folded the check neatly and tucked it away into his pocket. Ignoring the whining form of Eric Cartman on the floor, the French teen saluted the other boys with his shovel and turning on his heel like a soldier he marched out of the bar. The opening door allowed cold air to sweep into the room. Mr. Marsh blinked awake at the chill. Stan and Kyle stared at the swinging door as it slowed to a close.

"You know I learned something today," Kyle said after a long pause. Stan glanced at him. Cartman paused in his fake crying to listen. Kenny rolled his one good eye at the familiar phrase.

"French men and Jews are sneaky bastards," Cartman offered.

"Never lend your shit to Cartman?" Kenny asked.

"Making bets with fatass is never, ever good," Stan stated.

"No, that's not it. I learned not to let my anger get the better of me," Kyle said picking up his discarded pool cue and moving next to Cartman. "If I had been calm I would have questioned Cartman the night of the bet and learned for myself he hadn't paid attention."

Kyle swung the pool cue and struck Cartman on the head. The fat teen scrambled to his feet. Kyle took another heavy swing, and Eric pelted for the door. Kyle moved over to the pool table and collected a few of the cue balls.

He ran towards the door.

"Woah, dude, I thought you said that letting your anger get the better of you was bad? What are you doing?" Stan said catching hold of Kyle's arm.

The redhead shook him off. Kyle smiled. "I learned something else about anger, Stan."

"And that is?"

"It's better to vent, then to let it store up."

With that said Kyle sprinted out the door and down the sidewalk in the direction of Eric Cartman's house. The next morning Lianne Cartman would find her son trying to patch up his broken bedroom window with cardboard and scotch tape.


End file.
